Yankee Schoolteacher's (Almost) Last Day

Whheee! Crash! Flailing hooves barely missed my head.

What would cause two horses to take their anger out on a ten-year-old child and me, his twenty-four-year-old neighbor?

A lonely schoolteacher’s harebrained idea, that’s what.

A small town in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, held a private school.  I, a transplant from the Midwest, accepted a teaching position there, hoping to pour knowledge into the cranium of each seventh, eighth, and ninth grader.

On the other end of the spectrum, I had a huge learning curve, trying to adapt to southern culture.

At first, students called me “The Yankee” since my speech gave away Midwestern upbringing.  Then I learned to say laht bread and bob war (light bread and barbed wire to us Yankees) and to change the way I pronounced other words: “That’s rat, Denzil, you cain’t fat over the baseball bay-at.” How I loved the mountain culture and people!

Then I discovered the meaning of loneliness. It’s the same in every culture.

The school property was attractive, but no close neighbors lived nearby. With Interstate 81 in front of the building and a large cemetery behind it, chances for fellowship were nil.

My one-room apartment as well as my classroom, sat in the upper story of the old school building. That’s probably what prompted the harebrained idea that almost cost me my life.

Gazing out my classroom window one day, I noticed two chestnut-colored horses in a pasture across the interstate. They look so thin. If I could pick some apples off that tree over there, I could feed those poor creatures, I thought.

Gaining a partner in this foolhardy venture wasn’t hard. Mark Daniel, my pastor’s ten-year-old son, thought it sounded like fun. What we didn’t know was the way it almost changed our existence.

Clutching our brown paper bag of apples, we approached what used to be a working farm. Two elderly spinsters answered the door.

“Could we feed these apples to your horses?” we asked. The ladies must have lived on a shoestring, along with their emaciated horses. They eyed the bag hungrily, snatched it out of my hand, and peered inside. You would think I offered them a steak dinner.

After inspecting the spotted and bruised apples, they gave their permission.

 Anticipating a grateful response from the horses, Mark Daniel and I opened the gate and entered a large, fenced-in enclosure.

The horses looked as lean as their counterparts inside the house. Feeding those poor, starving creatures made us feel like Mother Teresa visiting a leprosy colony. We watched as they crunched happily.

Then we had a light bulb moment (or a laht bub moment, in their dialect). We hadn’t counted on two angry horses who wanted more.

Stunned, we watched as they became enraged, reared on hind legs and slashed the air with their hooves. Each time they came closer to our heads.

I realized it was too late to pen my last will and testament.

We needed an escape route—fast! But the gate was far away, and raw fear had me rooted to the spot.

Thankfully, Mark Daniel reacted quickly. He wadded up the paper bag and threw it toward the middle of the pasture. The horses dashed toward it, hoping for one last bite.

One terrified teacher and her chubby friend bolted for the nearest fence. Rolling under barbed wire never seemed so fast and easy.

Meanwhile, the horses realized the bag was empty. They wheeled around and thundered toward us, nostrils flaring.

We felt their hot breath on our faces as we stood shaking on the outside of the fence.

Thanks to my quick-thinking young friend, I am telling this story today. And one young schoolteacher learned some valuable lessons.

First, risky behavior, especially dumb risky behavior, can be life-threatening without a friend along to help.

Second, it pays to be aware of one’s surroundings.

Third, to quote Alexander Pope, “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”

Your turn. Using the comment box below, tell us about a possible life-threatening incident you experienced.